Back Roads Running Through The Forest
by Soncnica
Summary: The boys, one house in the middle of the forest and fear that will be devoured...literally..., if the boys won't find a way to control it.
1. Chapter 1

**So…this is my new multi chaptered fic (those of you reading Sensitive, don't worry, I'm still writing that one too). I will put any warnings in my a/n's if the chapter will call for them, so that no one will be able to accuse me of being gross or**** creepy or anything of the sorts LOL. **

**So…I wished me some hurt!boys and they say that if you want something done right do it yourself! And I did….I wrote this for my pleasure and yours. Btw, I've already written the hurt part and I'm soooo excited to see what you guys will think about that. **_**giggles**_**, but we have some chapters to go before we get to that. **

**I own nothing, but the grammar mistakes. **

**Anyways…**

**Emerald water this one is for you. How much you mean to me, how much I love ya, how much you make me even freakier then I am…it can all be summed up in one word: Bug!!! This is just a little thank you for being what you are!  
**

**Enjoy…**

**---**

On the grayest of spring evenings, April barely being born, the pebbly road crunched beneath the black tires of an even blacker car. Dean could feel the larger stones being turned and twisted when they intercepted the tires; he could feel the vibrations in his hands holding the steering wheel and he gripped it tighter.

_Don't want my baby to crash. _

The grass in the middle of the road was still brown, lazy in its growth, still sleepy from the winter. But that won't last long; soon enough it'll be bursting with life, getting greener and taller with each passing day.

"'m hungry."

"You're always hungry, Dean." he turned the map on his lap.

"Want me some pie."

"Want me some sleep." he folded the map.

"Tired?"

"Naw, 'm cool."

The fog that was supposed to clear throughout the day, _never trust those weathercasters_, obviously didn't care about what that little bald man on the TV said. It was quite happy swirling around the black car, trying to ease itself into the warm exterior. But it failed, as there was no way for it to settle on the black leather; there were no cracks for it to push through, no open windows for it to sneak in…all there was, was the sound of the machine that was driving it crazy, making it move along the way so that the car could pass by.

Sam was having a boxing match with a map and the map won: "Damn it."

Dean laughed out loud, breaking the subtle song on the radio with his voice: "What's the matter, Sammy!? Did the map bite back?"

"Very funny. 'm laughing on the inside."

"Well, 'm laughing on the outside."

Sam pushed his finger into his mouth, sucking on the paper cut.

"Stings."

"You three?"

"Whatever." Sam said and turned his head towards the trees.

The road looked snow white in the setting sun; the light that was barely bright enough to still call it daylight, speared through the thick fog, making it disperse a little.

It would have been a perfect red sunset, if a veil of clouds wouldn't have been interrupting it. In the distance the hills glowed in a thin blue-red color, the peaks of them covered with an orange glow; silhouettes of ancient rocks bathing in clouds and snow.

"Sam?" Dean leaned forward a little, trying to see more clearly through the windshield, but seeing nothing but the road ahead and the woods guarding it by it's sides, he slumped back into the leather seat. He stole a glance at Sam, his grip on the wheel tightening as a precaution.

"Yeah?" Sam looked away from the window, where his eyes saw tree trunks being wrapped up by the fog.

"Are we by any odd, you know, weird kind of way," he raised his voice a little, "lost!!?"

The tape that was currently in the radio got scared and fast forwarded two lines of the song's lyrics. But no one noticed that, no one paid any attention. Dean was pissed off and Sam was in his own little world.

Sam slipped his finger out of his mouth and said: "Don't yell at me," one glance on the map, illuminating it with the flashlight, "you said you want to go and take a shortcut," he glanced at Dean, "not me."

"But you said which way." his eyes were fixed on the road.

It was getting dark now, the sun down, the freshness of the air up. The rumble of the Impala's engine overpowered the chirping of the birds in the woods by the road. There was no wind to rustle the just forming leaves, everything was peaceful, fresh. Shining in the dusk.

"What?" he looked at Dean and turned of his flashlight. No need for that much light when you're in the middle of a fight. The less your opponents see, the less it's gonna hurt you.

"You said where to turn. You said left and I turned left." His eyes widened in anger.

"What?" _unbelievable._

"What, what?" he turned down the radio a notch, the song just a slight hum in the background of a loud fight.

"I never said left, I said right."

"No, you said left. I heard you."

"Dean, did you forget to clean your ears again?"

"What?"

"I never said left, I said right."

"Confess, Sam. You got us lost."

"Dean?"

"What!?"

"Stop the car and let's see where we are."

"Sure now you're making sense. Now, when we're already lost!"

"Oh, would you just shut up and pull over somewhere."

"Un-_freaking-_believable."

Dean stopped the car on the middle of the road and killed the engine, making Sam turn around to look if there was anyone behind them, but there was nothing, just darkness that was slowly descending and eating up the trees and the road in the distance.

"Uh, what if someone comes?"

Dean looked at him.

"Sam, we haven't seen a living soul anywhere for like," he glanced at his watch, "an hour…you really think someone will come now?!

He rotated his body so that he could see Sam more clearly, noticing nothing in his brother's eyes, nothing on his face that would give him any indication that there was something wrong with his brother. Sam didn't even have sleepy eyes…odd.

"So map boy, where exactly did you _misread_ something wrong?"

Sam huffed: "I didn't misread anything anywhere, I said left and you went…"

"What?!"

"…right."

"Wasn't it the other way around just a second ago?!"

Sam swallowed.

"For a map boy, you suck." Dean tore the map out of Sam's hands.

Any smart, witty comeback Sam might have had was swallowed down when two bloody palms appeared on the window by Dean's head, leaving a set of bloody smudges, when they slowly slid down.

**---**

**TBC…**_ yes or no!?  
_


	2. Chapter 2

**I should say this:**** maybe some grossness, maybe not; maybe some tears, maybe not... I don't know. LOL and I'm sorry for any grammar/spelling mistakes. **

**Bug…here you are!!**** And since we already established today that I am weird beyond weird, this shouldn't come as a shock to you! LOL**

**Enjoy…**

**---**

The smacking sound that the palms made when they hit the glass made Sam jump and nearly drop the flashlight he held in his hand. He could see them slowly slid down, leaving a smudged dark red palm print on the cool glass. Blood shone in the beam of the flashlight, when he directed it to the window.

The woods were dark now. The road was dark. The world was dark. But the moon and the stars were bright, sharing light with the Earth; moonlight in the faded day.

Dean spun around so fast something in his neck crunched: "What the…?" and when he looked back at Sam with eyes wide open and a mouth slightly parted to say something, he saw Sam already exiting the car. The Impala's door creaked when Sam opened them, and closed with a loud bang that vibrated thought Dean's ears and bones.

Sam rounded the car, placing his hand on the warm hood, and stopped. There by the side of the car, lay a man, a boy, sobbing silently and gripping the car's door with his right hand that kept slipping off, making these squealing sounds, when the hand covered in greasy blood made contact with the car's door.

"Hey, hey, hey," Sam made a gentle step closer to the sobbing mass on the floor, gripping the flashlight with all the strength he possessed, "'m not gonna hurt you." He raised his hand in a calming manner, gripping his flashlight even tighter.

The boy left out a cry and tried to wipe away his tears with his left hand, but all he did, was cover his tearstained cheek with more blood.

"You're gonna be okay. 's okay, 's okay."

Sam made another step closer, bumping into the kid's bare feet. They were bloody and dirty, stripped bare of his skin at some places. Sam swallowed and looked back up at the boy's eyes, shining scared in the darkness.

The crickets found a tune and stuck to it, the early evening birds chirping the most beautiful songs man has ever heard and Sam heard the car's door creak open and bang closed.

He could feel Dean behind him, he could smell that hidden odor of 'safe' coming from his brother, and when Dean stepped closer, their jackets touching, their boots colliding, he heard the boy whisper a broken: "Help me."

"We'll help, 's okay, man. 'm Dean, this is Sam, okay…all right?!"

A broken, choked up sob and a nod interrupted whatever Dean was trying to say next. The sound when the boy nodded into the sandy road broke something in Dean.

"Hey, easy," Sam made another soft step forward, flinching a little, when he saw the boy flinch and scoot backwards a bit, his bare feet making contact with the pebbly ground, "easy, 's okay."

Sam's voice was barely above a whisper, cracking on words of comfort, feeling the fear coming from the kid. Fear that smelled of blood and tears.

"Peter." the boy's voice was soaked in tears…pain and fear.

"Hey Peter, hey," Sam stepped closer and crouched down near the boy's outstretched arm; it looked like the kid was trying to grasp the cool air, hold it in his hands, "'s okay."

Dean made a few steps on the dark road, sand crunching beneath his boots and stopped by Sam's side. He crouched behind his brother, taking his first look at the boy.

Dark hair, black probably, leaves and twigs and dried blood mixed with greasy short hair; brown eyes probably, hard to see in the dark, small nose, bloody lips, bloody teeth, bloody clothes, bloody pants, no shoes, no socks…under Sam's flashlight the kid looked barely sixteen. His hands were grasping thin air and all Dean wanted to do was offer him his hand; something to hold onto. Something solid to transfer his pain to.

"Sam…"

Sam turned his eyes towards Dean's and in his brother's eyes he could read only one thing, one thing that was over shining all the others: hospital, now.

Sam blinked.

"Come on, Peter," Sam stretched his hand towards the boy's flailing one, "we're gonna get you to the hospital."

The panic, that build up in mere nanoseconds in Peter's eyes almost threw Sam off his feet. The kid looked like he shrank into himself, trying to look even smaller then he already was, trying to hide from Sam's hand and eyes and everything else.

"Peter, you're hurt," Dean said slowly, whispering into the twilight, "we need to take you to the hospital. We're not gonna hurt you."

"My brother, my dad…"

The boy sobbed again, his hands trying to make a fist but unable to, his chest heaving, his mouth bloody. He tried to get up from the floor, tried to escape, tried to get up and run away, but Sam caught him with a hand on his chest, pushing the boy back onto the floor: "Hey, calm down, lay back down. 's okay, relax."

Peter screamed. A piercing scream that chased the near by birds off of the branches…a scream that echoed through the woods and got lost somewhere in the distant roar of the wind.

Sam's hand came back drenched in blood, warm liquid sticky and metallic on his skin.

"Peter?!"

Dean's voice collided with Sam's on the question, and the boy arched his back, another scream making its way up his throat, blood running out of his mouth. His teeth and lips were covered with blood; he looked like a vampire after its feeding.

"Whoa, hey, hey, Peter, calm down."

Dean's voice got lost in Peter's screams.

"Hurts…" the boy panted out, when he couldn't scream anymore, tears streaming down his face, crying so hard, he was nearly choking.

"Calm down, man. Peter, hey," Sam raised his voice on the 'hey', trying to get Peter's attention, "calm down."

Peter nodded, but didn't calm down. He couldn't…he was beyond the limit of still being able to calm down, his heartwrenching cries coming down a little, but his sobs weren't subsiding.

"Okay, see…that's why we have to get you to the hospital, man."

Dean said and just as he was about to touch Peter, to get him up and standing, the boy flinched and closed his eyes: "Don't touch me. Don't…please." A few more tears leaked out of his eyes, making a weirdly straight line down his face.

_Yeah, barely sixteen__ if not younger. _

The birds came back to sit on the branches of the near by trees, soothed by the low murmur of voices coming from the three men below them.

"Okay, all right, okay. Ummm, okay…can I take a look, you know, to see what's wrong?"

Sam asked over the deafening sound of the kid's harsh breathing…it was like the boy was sucking air through a straw.

Peter nodded and placed his hands by his sides, digging his fingers into the pebbles, allowing Sam to lift up his shirt. The shirt that was brown at some point, or maybe black…but it was covered in blood now, red thick blood.

Dean looked up at the stars flickering on a now pitch black sky, before moving his gaze back down and seeing Sam grab the hem of the boy's T-shirt.

Sam hissed and Dean almost lost his pie that was his lunch that day. In their line of work they see dead people, bones, monsters with things missing, illusions, blood and gore, but this…

The beam of the flashlight bounced off of the boy's heaving chest, putting a string of white light on the boy's flesh. No skin anywhere, just flesh…red bloody flesh stretching from the middle of the kid's chest, down to his stomach, around his belly button, up his ribs, around to his back, up to his nipples, up to his neck…all flesh. It was like someone or something skinned the boy. Skinned him really precise, taking only skin…not flesh…

It made Dean's stomach turn and twist, and Sam looked a little green around the edges too.

_How the Hell's the__ kid still alive!?_

"What the Hell happened?!" Dean's voice wasn't a whisper anymore, and Sam could almost touch the anger in it if he would just put up his hand.

"'m bleeding…" the boy gasped.

_No shit, man._

"Peter, what happened?!"

Dean could actually hear Sam swallow down his own lunch that was trying to make a second appearance.

"'m bleeding…" he tried to raise up a little, tried to angle his head so that he would see it for himself, but Sam stopped him: "Peter, just lay down, okay?"

"I wasn't bleeding before. He…he…licked it and I didn't bleed…it didn't bleed…and now…I…" he said around his sobs that were turning into cries again…cries and struggles for air.

Dean's breath stopped in his lungs and Sam lowered Peter's shirt over his chest.

_Licked it, what?! Huh!?_

"Peter, what happened?! Who did this to you!?" Sam would lower his voice even more, but that would require not speaking at all.

"My brother, and, and…my dad…" the boy cried out again, his body and mind going into shock, repeating only four words 'my brother, my dad', over and over again. The brain allowed the words to be carried to his mouth…and each time they came out a little weaker, a little softer.

Sam looked at his brother, unshed tears shining in them and Dean knew. He knew without words being spoken, without giving anything away to Peter, without even blinking…they both knew.

"It hu…hurts…"

The whispered words drew Sam and Dean's attention back to the sobbing boy by their feet.

"Shhh, relax, okay?!" Sam's voice was shaking, tears glistering in it. His throat was tight, on the verge of crying, but if anything…he knew how not to cry.

The kid's arm collided with Sam's knee, trying to grip it. Sam looked down and almost lost it, when he saw the hand, covered in mud and blood, two fingernails missing.

He moved his shaking hand and covered the boy's, watching as his big hand all but devoured the boy's: "'s gonna be fine, all right?!"

"I," the boy's voice hitched, "don't wanna die. I don't wanna…I don't wanna die…my dad 'n Gab…"

Sam and Dean watched the boy fall into tears, crying his heart out. Tears mixed with blood and saliva that was slowly flowing from the corners of his mouth. His eyes were panicked beyond belief, his body finally coming to realize that it can't go on like this…can't function anymore. And now the brain was coming to the same conclusion too.

"You're not gonna…,'s gonna be okay." Sam squeezed Peter's hand on his knee, his fingers slipping on the warm blood.

_Good boy, Sammy. Keep it up._

"I don't wanna..please…daddy…Gab…" the words tumbled out of his bloody mouth with a breath…his last one.

Dean's heart clenched when he saw Peter starting to cough up blood, the bloody saliva running down the kid's chin, stopping by his shirt's collar.

"Just relax, Peter, okay?!"

Dean could almost touch the tears in Sam's voice, but he knew that Sam would never release them.

The birds stopped chirping; time for bed. The wind rustled some leaves, and an animal made a sound, a sound that was as heartwrenching as the kid's cries were.

Sam could feel Peter's hand loosing strength, slipping from his own hand like time before your eyes.

One last cough from the boy and his eyes lost their spark.

Sam placed Peter's hand on the boy's stomach, not needing to be careful anymore and softly touched the kid's eyelids and pulled them down, putting the boy into darkness.

**---**

**TBC **

_**A**__**nd why am I crying?! I wanted to do this all along and now that I did it, I'm crying!? WTH is wrong with me?! Awww Peter, the poor boy. **_


	3. Chapter 3

**Maybe****, I'll update this story again later this week, but this really needs to be a chapter on its own. You'll see why when/if you read it. **

**Enjoy…**

**---**

Sam's hands were covered in the cooling blood; blood that doesn't come off with wiping it into your shirt, blood that means a life lost, blood that drips down onto your jeans and you know you'll have to buy new ones, because that much blood…it never comes off. His fingers were sticky, it was becoming hard to separate them, and the metallic smell was beginning to turn his stomach upside down. He swallowed down bile for the fourth time in an hour and started to rub his hands together faster.

"Sammy?" there was urgency and fear in Dean's voice and Sam flinched, but didn't stop rubbing his hands.

The blood was drying, itching crust of red life on his long fingers. It even covered his bracelet, making the black of it look darker then black. He saw that the dried blood he chirped off his hands made a permanent residence in his lap, smearing his jeans and he wanted to yell for Dean to stop the car...he wanted to throw up, he wanted it off of him, the blood, Peter's life…he wanted it off…now.

Frantically rubbing his hands together, almost like a mad man, Sam left out a noise that Dean couldn't classify as anything he ever heard come from his brother before.

"Sam, what are you…" the rest of the words was swept away by the sight of his little brother, rubbing his left hand over the top of his right one, making it bleed.

"Sam!!"

The yell in the otherwise silent car was loud, louder then the need to rub his skin clean.

He stopped when he saw Dean's fingers wrap themselves around his hand. A steady pressure on the inside of his wrist, warmth that was Dean's hand wrapped around his own…it made him stop rubbing, it made the itch go away.

Dean could feel Sam's pulse racing…and he gently pried Sam's hand away and placed it in his brother's lap: "Keep it there, kiddo."

Sam didn't look at him, just…left the hand where it was and never moved it again.

As the trees were sliding by in Dean's peripheral vision, Sam was a blurry sight to him. Just sadness and a subtle anger. Subtle but tangible. The wetness Sam was trying to hide with his hair was there. Dean could see it, could almost feel it himself. Jaw tight like a piano wire, muscles tense, eyes open and staring straight ahead. But as he was looking at Sam he could see his brother slipping his gaze to look at him...so subtle but still enough to be noticed.

Dean blinked and looked at the road again.

The night was in full motion, the Impala's front lights the only light on the deserted road. The smell of copper was strong in the car, overpowering the smell of leather and the two days old pizza. Peter was wrapped into plastic and placed to lie on the backseat. It felt unnatural to Sam how _that_ didn't bother him. How having a dead body of someone on the backseat of the car didn't bother him at all.

"Sam?" Dean asked again, glimpsing toward his brother.

"Sam!" Dean yelled, finally getting his brother's attention.

His own name spoken with his brother's voice brought him back to the present: "What?" he snapped.

"Talk to me, man."

"What's there to talk about?! The kid is lying dead in the backseat, half of his body without skin and my hands…"

"Sam…"

"My hands have half of his blood…" he choked on the last word.

"Sammy…" he whispered.

Sam was a blurry image in his peripheral vision, a blurry image with red hands, shirt and jeans painted red…

"I know…"

"Know what?" Dean pushed, wanting to hear what was that his brother knew.

"I know it's not my fault, I know his death wasn't my fault, I know all that, but man, Dean…it sure feels that way."

He slipped his eyes toward Dean; his brother's hands moving the steering wheel, his jaw clenched tight, his gaze fixed on the road.

"Sam, he would have died either way, I mean," he glanced at Sam, seeing tears that will never come out of his little brother's eyes, shining in the darkness, "the blood he lost, shock probably, and who knows how long he had to walk to get to the road" he glanced back at the road, "there was nothing we could've done."

"I know…" it was so silent, that it got lost in the rumble of the Impala's engine.

"Do you?"

Sam looked out the window, not being able to face Dean's eyes. They carried sympathy and comfort, and Sam couldn't bare that at the moment.

"What are we gonna do with him?" Sam asked the trees flowing by in the darkness.

"Leave him at a hospital and hope his family will pick him up."

"You think this road leads to a town or something?"

"Has to go somewhere, right?"

Sam shrugged. With their luck the road probably ends with a cliff.

-:-

But the road didn't end with a cliff; it ended with a town…a small one, but a town nevertheless. The houses were nice, the windows closed, the dark in them almost soothing, the trees in the yards swinging in the light breeze, the dogs barking, the insomniacs raiding fridges and watching TV. Sam and Dean knew how that works; they had seen it in numerous towns they've driven through at night.

Every street looked abandoned at one in the morning. Every house, every apartment, everything but a small hospital, with its blue green fluorescent lights and doctors in white.

FBI agents really can get away with everything, even with bringing in a dead boy with half of his skin missing and an agent with so much blood all over him, it looks as if he bathed himself in it. No questions asked, well, there was no time to ask any questions, because Sam and Dean ran away from there like there was a fire beneath their feet. No questions asked.

-:-

They stumbled into the motel room and Sam choked on the stale air. He ran straight to the sink in the bathroom, the water scorching hot on his hands, the soap slippery and he almost rubbed his hands raw, before Dean placed his hand on his shoulder and turned off the water.

"You good?" Dean asked, looking at Sam in the mirror, his hand still on his brother's shoulder, having no intention of letting go anytime soon.

"I, ah…" his voice was shivering, "I need to get it off."

"You got it off, 's okay."

Sam looked up from the sink that was covered in pink drops, looked right into Dean's eyes that were staring back at him in the mirror: "We have to find out what happened."

"Yeah, I know," Dean chuckled, "no sleep tonight, huh?"

"No." and Sam was dead serious.

-:-

The dark was banished from the room with Sam's laptop glowing blue. Pages upon pages, articles, pictures, sentences, words, images, links…Sam swallowed it all down…every bit of information he could gather. He was tapping on the keyboard, he could see his fingers moving up and down on the keys, typing letter after letter…his fingers that were soaked in blood just half an hour ago. He blinked at the sudden urge to scream; the kid…he was asking them to help him, asking for his dad and brother, asking to be saved…and he…they couldn't do anything.

It was warm in the room, but he was so cold…up his ribs, to his neck, up his arms to his face. So cold. He swallowed the choking sound and concentrated on Dean's breathing coming from the bed next to his. He crossed his feet by his ankles and ran his hands over his eyes…he was tired, he couldn't deny that, he was so tired, he could feel it in his bones, but he had to find out what was happening here…Peter asked him to do that…to save him. Even if the saving part would come in the form of a revenge.

Dean left out a snort. Sam didn't have the energy to ask why he was snorting.

"Dean…"

"Yeah?"

By the sound of his brother's voice, Dean was tired too. It was nearly half past five in the morning and sleep was crawling into their bodies, but neither of them would let it win.

"Check this out."

The bed dipped by Sam's hip, when Dean sat down and took hold of the laptop.

"18 people, vanished, 15 found dead, without skin on some parts of their body," he looked up at Sam's sleepy eyes and ewww-ed," all people who came here to hunt…"

"Yeah, hunt for wild animals, not...you know..." Sam made a gesture with his hands that Dean interpreted as 'hunt for evil'.

"Yeah, hunting is a hazard in these woods, I guess."

Sam yawned: "Yeah…so, so you think this is it? What we've been looking for?"

Dean shrugged and Sam took back his laptop with a sigh: "Check this out." He pushed 'enter' and put the laptop back into Dean's lap.

"Peter," Dean's eyes ate up the screen, the picture of a boy, laughing, black hair and white teeth, almost jumped at him.

"Yeah, Peter. And it says that his brother and dad were missing…for 5 days. The town police found no clues, no trails, nothing. Peter's dad reported that they'll be hunting for only one day and when they didn't report back after that, the police went in search for them. They found nothing. And Dean," Dean looked at Sam, seeing his brother waking up with the excitement of this whole thing, "when I say nothing I mean nothing. Not even a trace that Peter's family ever even stepped foot into the woods."

"Okay…all right," Dean scratched his cheek, maneuvering the lap top back to Sam's lap, "we still don't know what's going on. I mean maybe it's not even something supernatural."

"Yeah I know that, I do, but…maybe it is…I mean Peter was almost skinless, they vanished without a trace, and then Peter magically appeared again? Don't you think that's just a little bit…odd?"

"Yeah, okay, yeah it is, but…" Dean got up from the bed, leaving Sam to fall into the mattress.

He paced the small room, rubbing his hand over his face: "…I would rather know what we're dealing with, so that we can kill it…with no problems, you know?"

"Yeah, yeah I know, but Dean…people are going missing, turning up dead. I really," he lowered his head, his bangs falling into his eyes, "think we should look more into this. Maybe go into the woods, look around a bit. I don't know." He raised his head and looked straight into Dean's awaiting ones. With one heartbeat they both knew that this was going to happen. They will look into this. No other way around it.

-:-

The ceiling was marked with shadows, water stains, spider webs, cracks, Peter's face…bloody.

"Sam…'s not your fault." the words were slurred and silenced by the pillow.

Sam turned his head towards Dean's form on the bed next to his, and breathed out. He hated nightmares. Hated them…hated the images that fallowed him into his dreams, hated it all.

"We have to find out what happened to him and his family."

"We will…after we get some sleep. Man, Sam…being tired won't help anyone, and you know it."

"I know."

"Do you?"

Sam huffed and turned his head back to stare at the ceiling.

"Yeah," Sam sighed, "yeah I know."

Closing his eyes burned; guilt was a fire on his eyelids but Dean's words were a soothing weight all over his body that pushed him into sleep.

---

**TBC…**


	4. Chapter 4

**It's raining and it's foggy and there is absolutely nothing to do, so…I wrote another chapter…LOL I hope you'll like it. **

**And I want to thank each and everyone who put the story to their alert list…thank you so very much for reading!! And don't be shy, tell me what you think even if you just point out grammar/spelling mistakes….**_blushes_** I know there are plenty of those!!! Sorry!!! LOL**

**Enjoy…**

---

Dean found Sam in the bathroom, leaning over the white porcelain sink, scorching hot water running over his hands and his hair a mess.

"Sammy?!"

"Yeah?"

"Whatcha doing there?"

"My hands…they're all bloody. I can't seem to get it off." He smiled and rubbed his hands together more roughly.

Dean stepped closer, keeping his eyes locked on Sam's reflection in the mirror; the steam fogged the mirror, but Dean could still see Sam's eyes shining in the yellow bathroom light. His bangs were in his eyes, his lips slightly parted and sweating buckets. Dean could see Sam's nape glistering with sweat, his slight curls plastered to his skin.

"Sam," he stepped behind his little brother, "your hands," and reached over Sam to grab at his hands and turn off the water, "are fine."

He could feel Sam's heartbeat racing beneath his fingers, and the water that still remained on Sam's hands was slowly cooling down.

"See? Sam, no blood."

"Yeah, yeah," his brow furrowed and his voice deepened, "ummm, we overslept. We should get going."

Dean let go of Sam's hands and watched as his brother started to pick up his duffle.

"Yeah, okay…it's," he glanced at his watch, "almost half past two, we need some time to get there, eat…so yeah…we should get movin'. But Sam…"

Sam spun around: "'m gonna be fine, it's just this…I want the thing that did this dead, okay?! Dead with a capital 'D'."

"You and me both."

-:-

The late afternoon sun was shadowed by dark-blue clouds…a storm was brewing in the distance. A storm that will hit fast and hard.

The road looked different then it did last night, true they didn't have a dead boy in the backseat, but…everything should have been more daunting, but it really wasn't. It was just…the silence before the storm.

"We found him somewhere 'round here, right?"

"Yeah, I think so," Sam said and stepped a little closer to the road's edge, his boot in the grass, "there's still some blood here."

He pointed to the pebbles that were drenched in blood; they really should have covered them when they left last night.

Dean stepped closer and crouched down to look at it: "We need to cover this with something…and before you say anything…I want this…whatever it is dead too."

He got up from the ground and started to move some clean pebbles over the ones covered with blood. It was…unreal. There was a boy, a living kid lying there just a few hours ago and now there was nothing there but some blood. Dean though that he had seen it all in the line of work he was in…but something like this…it hurts and you never get used to it. You shouldn't get used to it.

"Now what?"

"Well he came out from that direction," Dean pointed to some bushes, "so…we go there."

"You want to go into the woods?!"

"Well yeah…"

Dean looked at Sam, not really knowing where all this indecisiveness was coming from. It's not like they will be stepping into the woods for the first time in their lives.

"You don't even know what's in there."

"Whatever it is…it's gonna die when we find it, so quit your worrying."

"Dean!" Sam whispered to his brother's back, that was silently slipping into the woods, the trees enveloping his form.

"What?!" Dean turned around and bumped into Sam's chest.

Rolling his eyes and pushing Sam away from him, Dean mumbled in a whisper: "What? The woods are our only lead, we have to at least check it out, the police probably missed something, you know how incapable they are."

Sam stumbled backwards, stepping on a dry twig, snapping it in two: "Yeah, yeah okay, just…" _don't sneak away like that ever again_, "lets go."

And the storm was sneaking closer and closer.

-:-

Why is the night always so eerily quiet that you can hear your own heart beat? Trying to leap out of your chest, making you breathe slower, just so that you could force it to stop beating so loud. Just to keep that silence…silent. Undisturbed.

The owl that was sitting on a branch was looking around, minding her own business, eyes wide, trying to spot her food, that ever elusive mouse. She shook her head and made a noise that send shivers down Sam's spine. He grabbed his gun tighter with his hands, almost breaking the handle with sheer fear that cursed through his body.

The moon, not almost full, three more days, _Dean_ _knew_, illuminated the path they were walking on. It was a narrow one, covered with twigs, leaves and fallen needles, making a soft base for the foot to collide with. Having a brownish color, almost white, with the moon shining on it.

The fern growing at the sides was brushing their jeans, soft almost undetectable, leaving a slight tickling sensation.

Mist gathered around them, a consequence of the rain, swirled around the trees. Squeezing them in a tender embrace.

The presence of humans, was making the owl nervous, so she spread her wings wide and flew away. That mouse just got another day.

There was a slight drizzle falling from the black sky. Dean wiped away some of the rain that obscured his vision. Sam did the same. He could feel the gathered raindrops on his hair, slowly seeping down the back of his neck, down his spine and somewhere in the middle, his shirt drank it all.

The sounds were a small whisper in the dark. A cricket there, an owl somewhere far in the distance, a lost bird somewhere close. Some deer brushing through the bushes. Or at least that's what they were hoping it was.

The light from their flashlights was chasing shadows in the bushes, up the trees, along the pathway. Somewhere in the distance it lost its power and moonlight took over, swallowing it.

Trees were embracing them from all directions, making an almost claustrophobic effect on Dean. Branches leaning over their heads, like little thin hands, trying to touch them.

He looked around, eyes wide, face emotionless, a look that would break bones, a look of utter concentration and readiness. Sam was no different. Mouth drawn in a thin line, eyes lurking, blinking away the drizzle, he was already loosing patience with.

They were walking side by side on the path, Dean slightly in front of Sam, almost in the undergrowth, but that didn't bother him. As long as Sam was right behind him.

Heavy footsteps breaking small twigs on the path, making snapping sounds that echoed through the forest. They prayed no one heard it, _them_.

Some of the raindrops that proved too heavy for the leaves to keep on fell on Dean's hair, slide down his forehead, down his brow, eye, cheek, when eventually falling on the floor. It didn't make a sound, it just left a tickling feeling on his face. He would smile at that, if he wouldn't be so concentrated on drawing one foot in front of the other.

Every sound made them flinch slightly, stop a little, look around and continue.

The night was cold and it made them shiver. That drizzle didn't help the matters. Not at all. Small puffs of breath came out of their mouths, disappearing in the mist. Sam's teeth chattered, lips going from slightly pink to almost lightly blue.

_Need a warmer jacket_.

Sam swiped away some small pesky fly, or at least that's what he thought it was. There was a swarm of them on their right, following them silently. They were attacking him, biting him on his hand, face, neck. He was on the verge of a breakdown.

He turned slightly to his left to look at how his brother was doing. Dean was battling the same things he was. Wetness, cold and bugs. He watched as Dean killed a fly and flicked it to the floor somewhere. He smiled slightly at that. Dean and bugs. Funny.

"Hey, Sam." Dean turned around a little and met Sam's figure slightly bent and tired. _Or was it fear?_

Sam raised his head only to be met with the bright light from Dean's flashlight.

"Jeez, Dean. You tryin' to burn my eyes out?"

Dean pointed his flashlight to the floor.

"Oh, Sam, you should've seen your face." and a silent laughter followed those words.

"Nice Dean, real nice. I'm glad you find scorching my eyes out amusing."

"Sam, it's this silence, man. It's driving me crazy. And these bugs and the rain. I'm going insane here."

Sam wanted to point his light into Dean, but he thought the rain and the bugs did a lot more damage than he could have done with his flashlight. "Yeah, me to. Just don't do that again. I need my eyes. Unless you want to sit behind the computer doing research from now on?"

Dean looked at Sam and thought about it.

Still thinking.

"Yes sir, Sammy sir." and a salute made Sam smile.

Even thought his brother can be a complete moron sometimes, he was glad that Dean broke the silence. It was getting on his nerves too. Irritating him, would be more accurate.

And just as he was about to comment on Dean calling him sir and saluting him, he saw Dean's eyes widen and a look of _awe_ flicker in them.

**---**

**TBC…**


	5. Chapter 5

**Short and sweet and yeah…short. ****But look at this, this way…the next chapter will be here sooner, because I didn't combine this one with the next one so, so, so…umm yeah… And yeah nothing much happens here, it just sets the mood and all. And it's all I can give you at the moment; because I'm busy, busy, busy…life is crazy. I took some time off today to write this…ummm and I apologize for all grammar/spelling mistakes. I have English blocked in my mind, because I have to have my head set to Slovene atm. Don't ask. Bug, LOL, you deserve this chapter...because you and I lived through a week from Hell.  
**

**Enjoy…**

**---**

The rain stopped as abruptly as it had begun. The black clouds dispersed, leaving the night sky full of little bright spots. Little drops of the cold rain that found their home on some leaves fell on Dean's nape, cooling the heated skin there when a slight breeze blew and stirred the leaves.

The night was slowly becoming almost summer like; bright and clear with flickering stars, warm even. Little bugs were flaying over the moonlight lit grass, dancing over flowers and long strands of grass.

Dean stopped Sam with a hand on his chest, the back of his hand colliding with Sam's jacket's zipper…right on his knuckles: "Ow."

"What?"

"You electrified or somethin'?

Sam scowled: "Huh?" and looked down to where Dean's hand was still right over his heart: "Get off me."

Dean's hand fell to his side like a dead fish falls into a toilet.

The forest became dead silent when a twig was broken. It seemed that every other sound stopped to listen to that snap echo through the forest. Even Dean's heart stopped for a second, but then it resumed its beating when he didn't notice any danger, just Sam looking down at his feet. Dean rolled his eyes and rested his eyes on a house, enveloped in the dying light of the moon. The night was ending fast, with the morning just around the corner.

They've been hiking through the forest for what felt like hours, walking up and down the forest's edge, wandering around the unsteady ground, picking up ticks and rain drops.

But all that was worth it, because the sight before them was breathtaking in its creepiness.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"What the Hell," Dean pointed his finger to the object of his fascination, "is that?"

"A house." Sam's jaw dropped a little, seeing the big mass of bricks in front of him.

"Umm, that's…a big house."

"Umm," Sam ran his left hand down his cheek, wiping away the sweat and the rain, "yeah."

"Wanna go check it out?

"Do we have a choice?" Sam huffed.

"Well…no."

Dean stepped forward and left his brother standing in the undergrowth.

The sight sent little sparks of fear up Sam's spine…nothing good'll come out of this.

A mansion like house was hiding among the tall forest trees. The chimney was standing tall and proud on the top of the tallest tower, right in front of the big bright moon, looking like a small man was standing on the moon. The tall trees that were surrounding the house were spruce trees, with long, elegant trunks, and branches that were almost touching the stars. The leaves of two big oaks, which were planted near each corner of the house, were tickling the window's glass; they were so close, caressing the windows.

The house was almost three stories high, maybe even more. It was hard to tell, because it seemed like the house was leaning a little to the left, tilting like a drunken man.

The windows were huge, scattered all over the walls. Some were round, some were square like, but they were all tall and dark. The gray light of the moon was illuminating the gray walls, making them bright in the darkness. The roof was brown; with big holes and wooden beams sticking out of them. The three towers, two smaller ones protecting one tall one in the middle, were leaning forward a bit, like wanting to touch the ground with their spikes, but got stuck somewhere in the middle.

The porch, as much as Sam could see was wooden, almost eaten by termites. The bushes in front of it were rustling, petting the fence that was rounding the porch.

"Sam!"

Dean's loud voice brought Sam back to here and now, and he broke his contact with the house to look at his brother.

"'m coming." he whispered and made three steps forward into the tall grass. Even in the early April, the grass was tall enough to reach up to his knees, enveloping his calves like soft water.

"You think that whatever we're looking for is in there?"

"It's the only thing out of the ordinary we've seen in like hours, man…"

"Yeah…I guess. I wonder how the search parties didn't find this."

"Maybe they did, ya know…went in even, but just didn't find anything. You know that they don't have our awesome skills."

"What? Finding trouble?"

"Definitely." Dean smirked.

"Maybe…yeah."

Dean looked at his brother, this whole indecisiveness that Sam suddenly developed, was starting to worry him. Just yesterday Sam was adamant to find whoever killed Peter, to hunt and kill and get revenge, but now…this whole hesitance that Sam suddenly started to carry on his shoulders was becoming worrisome. It wasn't like Sam to be like this. It wasn't like Sam to be like this at all.

Dean bit at the inside of his mouth and walked on.

Walking on the tall grass was strenuous. The stems were bending with force; the melody of them breaking was the only sound in the forest and Sam got lost in his thoughts with Dean's back in his line of vision.

He wanted revenge, he did…

"Sam, you okay?"

…Peter bleeding in his arms, his hands soaked by the boy's blood, the smell of copper still in his nose, slowly crawling down into his mouth and he could actually taste the blood…

"Sammy, hey…"

…he wanted to hunt down and kill whoever or whatever did _that_ to the kid. He really did, but the rational side of his brain kept telling him that a house in the middle of the woods was just…bad news. He knew Dean knew that too, and he knew that they both have enough experience to deal with anything and anyone, but…

"Sam, man. Hey!"

…a muffled voice in his head kept telling him that _this_ was a very bad idea. Going into the house, going anywhere near it…

"Sam!! Dude, you with me?!"

…it will end badly.

"Yeah…come on, let's go."

"Sam?!"

"'m fine. Let's go check this out."

He swallowed and bypassed Dean, brushing Dean's shoulder with his own.

It was clear that they were walking on a deserted road, by the color of the grass. It had to be cut and trimmed at some point in the past, but…a very long time in the past.

The dim color of dawn was creeping from the East, when they reached a steel fence that was surrounding the house.

Dean grabbed one steel spike in his hand and tugged. The fence door opened; slowly, heavily, squeaky.

"Check out the sign." Dean pointed to a white board, hanging on rusty nails.

'DO NOT SIT OR LEAN ON THE FENCE'

"Like I wanna sit my ass on those spikes." Dean rolled his eyes and clasped his hands to get rid of the rust that gathered on his palm.

Sam smiled…the smile breaking the tension in the air. Breaking the smell of rain and wet grass, decaying leaves and a dead house.

Dean sighed: "Your head in the game here?"

"Always, man."

"You seem a little…"

"Man," Sam smiled, "a boy died last night, half of his skin was missing, we've been hiking in the woods for hours and now this house. I don't know. I," he nervously tilted his head, his hair falling into his eyes, "this is really creepy, man."

"Dude, you're telling me. But we're here, people have been dying, maybe it's something of ours, you know? Maybe we can stop it." Dean whispered, "besides," he patted Sam on the shoulder, "creepy is our middle name."

Even with Dean's light words…fear and dread were still hiking hand and hand up Sam's spine and not even the desire for revenge was able to stop them. Not even his brother's reassuring words. Nothing. It was like his psychic abilities were running high, screaming at him to just turn around and run...this this is bad, bad, bad...really bad.

Coming closer to the house they could see that it wasn't all made of wood. The walls were made of brick, orange-red brick, which was almost purple in the fading moonlight.

A wind blew around the right corner of the house and rustled Sam's hair; like little fingers curling up the hair at his nape, making him turn around swiftly but seeing nothing…nothing but the first signs of dawn.

The stairs leading up to the porch were slippery. Seven of them; like seven dwarfs protecting…something. Seven steps, wooden steps, cracked steps, shiny steps, full of leaves and debris. The house was falling apart and the tall tale sign of that was waiting for anyone right on the steps. Like a warning: ''stay back, 'm gonna die any minute now''.

A swing, it was painted white once, was placed right in the middle of the porch, a little to the left, swinging back and forth in the slow wind.

"Yeah, not creepy at all, man."

"I know."

Stepping the final step and planting their feet on the creaky, wooden porch they turned around and were hit by a bloody sun rise.

Yeah nothing good will come out of this.

They adjusted their backpacks, and stepped into the house.

**---**

**TBC…**


	6. Chapter 6

**It'****s short, I know… But I have the next chapter written down, I just can't decide about one thing… I need to think about it some more. And I do advise you to read this chapter carefully…because there are 3 things that are gonna be important later on. **_giggles _**I never write something down if it doesn't have a purpose…remember that!**

**And Bug…here's your treat! **

**Enjoy…**

---

The door handle was a cold metal stick like thing burning into Sam's palm when he touched it and pushed it down. The door creaked and slowly slid right into the space behind it.

"Whoah…"

His eyes met a long hallway with tall, dark holes on both sides…like open mouths waiting to devour you when you step through them into the room.

"Close the door." Dean said and stepped further into the house, leaving Sam to close the door.

Stepping with his heavy boots on piles of broken wood that were covering the floor, Dean was slowly making his way to a staircase right in front of him. The hallway walls were full of pictures; woods, meadows, animals, rivers, lakes…nature in all its glory. Some of them were hanging sideways, some of them were broken in two, some of them were dusty and some of them were just bloody. A line of smeared blood was running along the wall; a line of blood a hand makes when you drag it along the wall for support.

_Peter…_

"Sam…"

Dean turned around to see what was keeping Sam from joining him and to show him the bloody hand prints, when his eyes met a scene he really wasn't expecting. His little brother was standing like a statue in the middle of the narrow hallway with his eyes starring at his hand like it was something brand new to him.

SNSN

"Close the door."

He heard his brother say and when he adjusted his backpack, he reached for the handle. His fingers wrapped around it automatically, his eyes didn't even bother too look down at what he was touching; they were focused on the corner behind the door…a dark space with spider webs and two moth eaten coats. But sometimes, it's better if you take a look at what you're touching.

Sam felt it…felt a slick watery substance on his skin.

He let go of the door handle as if it burned him…and in a way…it did.

His palm was bloody. Red. Slick. Wet. Cold blood resting on his open palm. Again.

_Peter…_

"Dean…" he breathed out and stared at his palm like it was something he had never seen before. Something brand new.

SNSN

"Sam?"

Dean stepped towards him, over the pile of wood on the floor and grabbed Sam by his shoulders.

"Sam?"

He slipped his hand down his brother's arm, felt it tremble underneath his touch and wrapped his fingers around Sam's wrist. The pulse he felt there was racing as if Sam had been running for miles.

And then there was blood. There was blood on Sam's palm. Lots of it; Sam's palm was almost bathing in it. Red blood. It looked almost black in the murky interior of the hallway, where the dawn hasn't reached it yet. The redness of the blood was in such contrast to the whiteness of Sam's palm it made Dean gag.

"Sam, hey."

Sam's brow furrowed and his hand started to shake making Dean put more pressure in his grip.

"Sam, hey…here."

He pulled a bandana out of his pocket to wipe off the blood: "Sam…look at me."

When Sam raised his eyes from his palm, Dean took a step back. There was sadness in there that he had never seen before. Sam was cracked open and this was just not the time or the place to do this…for this to happen.

"'s Peter's, right? I mean he had to have been here. He…"

"Sam…come on. Snap out of it man. This isn't like you. Sam...Peter would've died either way. It was a miracle he survived as long as he did. You _know_ that." Dean spit on the bandana and started to wipe off the blood, putting more and more pressure on Sam's palm.

"I know that. But it was his blood on my hands."

"Yeah, but you didn't kill him."

Dean was getting angry, but he tried to hide the anger with furiously wiping Sam's palm. Trying to get rid of everything that was making Sam like this.

"I know that."

"Sammy," Sam looked at Dean, with eyes wide open and chewing his bottom lip, "I don't think you do."

There was silence falling over them…the sound of breathing the only sound in the hallway.

"Sam…Peter would've died anyway, you know that. So just stop this guilt trip you're on and focus here."

"You said that once before."

"What?"

"That I'm on a guilt trip."

"Well, you never listen to me so I have to repeat things over and over again to get them through your thick skull."

"Yeah…"

"So, you gonna stop now and just focus here? We do have a job to do, right?"

Sam shifted his legs. It was a sure sign that he was thinking, and thinking hard.

"Yeah…yeah…you're right. I don't know why this…got to me like this." Sam smiled. Everything was just so messed up. What he was feeling inside…the feeling of being powerless, of being unable to save someone, of just being a witness to someone's suffering and not being able to do a damn thing…everything was just so messed up. When he got over one feeling, another one came begging to be dealt with and so on. He wanted revenge, and then he was scared, and then he wanted revenge again, and then he felt helpless and inadequate, and then he wanted to find out what happened to the kid more then anything, and then the next second he just saw Peter's last breath escape his lips and everything came crashing back to him.

"Sam, you have to get yourself together, man. Okay?"

"I know, yeah..okay."

"Here, wipe your hands with this," Dean pushed the bandana into Sam's other hand and adjusted his backpack not believing a single word Sam said.

SNSN

The walls of the hallways had a flowery décor, violets and daisies. Years erased them, but some flowers you just know by heart even if they are just a faint reminder of what used to be.

Dean peeked into one of the rooms: "Whoah is right."

The windows in the room were huge framed with thick, brown velvety curtains that were probably red once. They were hanging by the edges of the windows, swinging left and right in the soft breeze that was coming into the house through the open door; they were swiping the floor with their ripped edges…making little dust particles fly in the air. Moths have eaten through the thick material, holes in the ripped fabric looking almost menacing. The morning dawn was loud and clear now…red light of the early spring sun washing the room of all that was dark and murky. But Dean would prefer the dark and murky…the red now just made the room bleed.

There was a rocking chair in the middle of the room. Rocking back and forth.

_Probably __just the wind…_

"Sam, you wanna check out here, and I'll go upstairs?"

Dean placed his right hand to the shaky fence that was protecting the stairs and looked up into the darkness that reigned there, waiting for Sam to reply. He didn't want to tell Sam about the lines of blood on the hallway walls, but he knew that Sam saw them either way. He closed his eyes for a second and breathed in.

The light coming from the open door into one of the rooms slid into the hallway and turned everything in a light shade of orange. It painted the pictures orange, it painted the flowers orange. Everything was orange, even Sam's face when he stepped behind Dean.

"This place, Dean…something isn't right here. You can feel it too, I know you can."

"Yeah, but Sam…we've been in worst places then this and…

"Dean…you know what I mean."

"I know."

And Dean did. The house was creepy, it carried a sense of loneliness and life and everything was mixing into a weird smell of oldness. And Peter with half of his skin missing, bloodied and weak and incoherent and…Sam's psychic stuff and…Dean knew.

Sam had that vibe of wanting revenge coming from him, but that vibe was overshadowed by the sense of dread and fear.

"Do you?" Sam asked.

Dean looked up into his brother's eyes and sighed: "Yeah, I do."

"Here." Sam offered his brother the bandana, now covered with Peter's blood.

"Ugh, keep it."

Sam shrugged and tucked it into his jacket pocket.

"So, the police was never here."

"Yeah, seems so."

The previous conversation forgotten, the previous doubts put behind, and both of their minds were back to business.

"It figures." Dean breathed out and started walking up the stairs.

"Yeah." Sam fallowed a little behind.

They won't separate for anything in the world. Sam was in no state to be left alone and it was like the house itself was reaching its fingers, trying to separate them…or so it felt to Dean. Well the bitch won't get what it wants.

"A fireplace."

Sam pointed out, stretching his finger into a room on his right.

Dean descended the three steps he already walked on and came to stand shoulder to shoulder with his brother.

The fireplace was huge; tall and wide. Big enough for a person to stand in it, but it was falling apart. Debris of stone and wood were surrounding it, a big gapping hole in the middle of it. Placed in the middle was a silver, or so it seemed, head of a horse with its tongue sticking out. Like someone was strangling the animal and it was chasing its last breath.

"Creepy, man." Dean breathed out and hit Sam square in the chest: "Let's check upstairs."

Sam was mesmerized by the sheer enormousness of the fireplace. It was as big as the whole wall.

"Yeah, 'm coming."

**---**

**TBC…**


	7. Chapter 7

'**m here, 'm here. Bug****, you're gonna go crazy over this chapter and you know why.  
**

**AND I wanna thank everyone who put this story to their alert list AND thank you to those of you who review (it's what keeps me going, really) AND thank you to those of you who kind of still read this story. LOL AND sorry for all the grammar/spelling mistakes you're gonna find here...I have to work fast, because we have so many thunderstorms that...yeah...I can't be on my computer for too long...sorry...blame it on the weather. LOL  
**

**Enjoy…**

**---**

The stairs were long and not very wide; just enough for one man to go up and to not meet someone going down. There once was a carpet of some sort covering them, but now…it was just a fabric with frayed edges, worn out décor and small holes animals did while searching for food.

Made of wood, the stairs were protesting every step Sam did. Crying out, creaking and whining. He was running his right hand on the fence; dusty old wooden thing, that was shaking under his touch; not very stable and not very reliable. He let go of it and wiped his hands in his jeans.

"Watch that stair."

Dean pointed his finger at the stair he was referring to and Sam carefully stepped over it, not taking any chances with it. Not taking any chances with the whole house. Nothing in the whole house looked very stable, reliable...safe to him. Nothing.

"Gimme the flashlight."

Dean's voice fell into Sam's busy mind, making him flinch.

"Sam…"

There was a warning of some sort in Dean's voice and Sam looked up to see Dean starring at him like he had just seen him for the first time ever.

"Yeah, the flashlight."

He put his backpack down on the floor of the upstairs hallway; another long one, different décor here…no flowers, just ash colored walls, one little table on the left side, a few doors, nothing spectacular to write home about. Nothing, but a beige door at the end of the hallway. If it wasn't for one little lost ray of sunlight that was shining straight onto the golden doorknob there, Sam would never have seen them. Would never have paid attention.

"Sam, sometime today would be awesome."

Sam looked up at Dean and saw his brother wearing a look of deep concentration and 'what's wrong with you'.

Sam shrugged: "Uh, yeah. Here."

He offered his brother the flashlight, sliding his eyes one last time to that beige door. The doorknob was sparkling in gold…and the door was almost white. The only door he had seen in the whole house. The only door period. Every other room was just a gapping hole with broken door, but this…this was a beige door with a golden doorknob and they were whole…not broken…still there…looking at him.

"Sam…you coming?"

The door with the golden doorknob…they were laughing at him, taunting him…

"Sam!!"

Dean's voice broke whatever spell the door had on Sam: "Yeah, 'm coming."

They walked deeper into the dark hallway, Dean's flashlight the only source of light at some points. The early morning sun hasn't penetrated through the tall trees outside yet, thus making the upstairs room look gloomy and sad; lonely.

SNSN

The floorboards were moaning under their weight, making a deafening sound in the quiet room. Dust sparkled in the flashing beam when Dean pointed the light towards a huge bed.

"What is this place?" Dean whispered, afraid that any noise would make the house collapse.

He was flashing his flashlight all over the place; an ancient brown closet on his left, a bed draped with a blanket on his right, a wide window in front of him, with long silken curtains. The master bedroom of someone at some point.

"I have no idea." Sam sidestepped Dean and walked deeper into the room, swiping his fingers over a table near the window. Dust; years and years of dust was lying on the table and Sam wiped his fingers in his jeans.

Stopping by the window, he leaned out as much as he dared; the window's ledge was fragile, just ready to break.

There was a big backyard stretching deep into the forest, the grass eaten by the tall trees.

Somewhere near the right corner of the yard was a white bench and a fountain with a little boy holding a flute…the water was still running out of the flute.

"Didn't the internet say anything?"

Dean's voice startled Sam, making him almost lean on the window's dirty glass.

"Mr. Google didn't exactly ask me if I want to know about a house in the middle of the woods, now did he?"

Dean shot him a look over tiny dust particles, that simply said 'idiot'.

Sam huffed and turned his eyes back to peer out the window: "We've checked out every room in here and found crap. Now what?"

"Check again."

Dean said that so matter-of-factly it made Sam let go of the view his eyes were focused on and turn his sharp eyes towards his brother.

"Again?"

"Peter was here, that much we know, right? So…we just have to keep looking. He was talking about his dad and brother, so maybe…"

"They're still here…somewhere?"

Sam looked out the window again. The flute was still spilling out water and the sun was still slowly rising. It'll be a beautiful day. A warm spring day.

"Maybe," Dean turned around and faced the door, "maybe not."

"Well, we checked out all the rooms here…you're thinking a hidden room?"

Sam was thinking 'the beige door'.

"Definitely."

Dean was thinking 'basement'.

"Where do you wanna start?

"Basement. You?"

"The beige door at the end of this hallway."

"The attic?"

"You think?"

Could it be that simple? Just an attic?

"Probably."

"Okay, so…so you go to the basement and I'll go to the attic."

"No."

"Why not?"

"We're not splitting up in this house."

"Why the hell not?"

This was unbelievable: "Dean…" Sam left out a long breath.

"What?"

Dean was becoming slightly agitated with this. The whole house…it was as if it was screaming at them to 'SPLIT UP' and that was so wrong on so many levels and the bitch ain't gonna get what it wants.

"We'll cover more grounds if we split up, man."

"No way in no how. Ever. Not in this house."

"Give me one good reason."

Dean sighed and lowered his head, running his hands through his short hair: "It's like…this house…it's like it wants us to split up. Can't you feel it, Sam?"

Sam smiled. Dean had one of his spells again. Intuition of a hunter is important and Sam learned to trust his brother's. Dean's nose could sniff out a monster three states over.

They were both freaks.

"Alright. Okay. _We_ go check out the attic first 'coz it's closer and then the basement and…"

Sam stopped in the middle of the sentence, looked down at the wood beneath Dean's boots that made a sound he really, really didn't want to hear and then quickly shifted his eyes back up to Dean's.

"Sam?"

Dean looked and sounded scared. His voice was trembling, his eyes were wide, his hands were shaking, making the beam of light, coming from the flashlight he held with a death grip, dance all over the place.

This was not good.

"Ompf…" the breath was taken out of Dean's lungs when the wood beneath his feet started to crumble and part. The nose it made was making Sam's heart speed up and Dean's almost stop.

No one should hear the cracking noise wood makes when something is breaking it apart…especially if you know what the outcome of that will be.

"Dean?!"

Sam made a step closer, a step away from the window and Dean held out his hand, his ring shining in the early morning sun: "Stay back, Sam."

"Dean?!!"

_This is not happening…_

…but before Sam knew it, he saw his whole life flash before his eyes but in reality it was Dean's body disappearing into a hole in the ground.

"Dean!!!" Sam carefully stepped closer to the dark hole in the floor that his brother's body made when it fell through.

"Dean!!!" he yelled into the abyss, hearing only wood breaking and squealing when Dean kept falling deeper and faster through the rotten wood. He strained his eyes, trying to see something, trying to see if Dean stopped, but all he could see was the beam of the flashlight disappearing into darkness. And then…there was nothing. The flashlight broke, the light disappeared but the noise remained.

"Dean!!!"

Sam ran out of the room as fast as he could, breaking his feet down the long hallway that was now finally bathing in the early morning sun, screaming his brother's name every few steps, hoping beyond hope that that would be what will stop Dean from falling any deeper into the house: "Dean!!!"

There was nothing there…nothing but the sound of wood breaking.

"Dean!!!"

He ran down the stairs so fast none of them got a chance to protest and even the broken stair Dean warned him about earlier withheld his weight when he stepped on it.

"Dean!!!"

His hands were sliding down the staircase fence, then the wall and when he came to a stop at the door frame of the room with the fireplace, his breath stopped.

"Dean!!!"

He entered the room slowly, afraid that any sudden movements would make something else break and looked up at the ceiling, seeing a hole his brother's body made when it fell through. And on the floor…there was a hole too. Right through a worn out red carpet.

Sam stepped towards the hole and stopped at its edge. The beam of his flashlight found Dean lying on the floor. On his side. Not moving.

"Dean!!!"

**TBC…**

**---**


	8. Chapter 8

**Because ****Bug, umm I mean Emerald Water wanted Dean's POV from the last chapter so…lets look at that, shall we? And the very last line in this chapter was written by her too…she lend it to me…**_giggles_** I'm borrowing a sentence…so cool. I still don't own anything, BUT the grammar/spelling mistakes.  
**

**Enjoy…**

**---**

"Alright. Okay. _We_ go check out the attic first 'coz it's closer and then the basement and…"

Dean wasn't paying much attention to what Sam was rambling on about because he heard and felt something crack beneath his boots. It was a sound he really didn't want to hear. He slowly moved his eyes down Sam's chest, down his own legs to rest them on the dark brown wood. He heard nothing but silence then, when Sam stopped talking. It seemed so much like the silence before the storm; when everything is deadly quiet and you just know something horrible is about to happen.

His eyes were fixed on little cracks in the wooden floor, tiny little cracks that were becoming bigger and longer by the second, spreading like spider webs all over the floor. One was reaching all the way to the bed, stopping by the bed's leg; one was stretching right to the window, running right between Sam's legs; one was running all the way to the closet and got lost somewhere underneath it. And the cracks were multiplying by the second.

_This is bad…_

He quickly shifted his eyes back up to meet his brother's wide ones, the angle of his view allowed him to see how the sun reflected in Sam's eyes, making them wet and brown. Sam was scared and that was not good. The window behind Sam was wide, letting in the early spring sun. The redness of it was making the room bleed and Dean knew, out of years of experience, that he will be bleeding soon too.

"Sam?"

His voice was cracking just like the wood beneath his feet. Fear was so evident in the sound of his voice; he was surprised he didn't pass out from it. The fact that he knew exactly what was about to happen…intensified his fear by a thousand.

_Okay, okay…this __is so not good._

He knew his eyes were matching Sam's in their wideness, but he couldn't do anything about it. His hands were shaking, like leaves on unsteady waters, making the beam of light, coming from the flashlight he held with a death grip, dance all over the place. The flashlight and Sam's eyes were his focus points; everything else was just there, especially the cracking noise beneath his feet.

_This is so not good._

"Ompf…" the breath was taken out of his lungs when the wood beneath his feet started to crumble and part. The noise it made made his heart almost stop and he could see Sam's chest slow down in its rising and falling. That scared Sam too.

_Son of a bitch…_

No one should hear the cracking noise wood makes when something is breaking it apart…especially if you know what the outcome of that will be. And Dean knew. And Sam knew too. And there was nothing anyone could do about it. They just had to let it happen. They were powerless. One move at any direction will just speed up the process.

_Fu…_

"Dean?!"

Dean saw Sam make a step closer, a step away from the window and he held out his hand, his ring shining in the early morning sun: "Stay back, Sam."

_Sammy don't…don't come closer. _

"Dean?!!"

_This is not happening…_

…but before Dean knew it, he saw his whole life flash before his eyes but in reality it was Sam's eyes disappearing into a hole in the ground.

"Dean!!!"

He heard Sam scream after him and he really wanted to grab hold of the edge of the hole his feet did when the floor gave in, but the force of gravity was too great. He wanted to scream back at Sam, but everything was moving too fast and too painfully; he couldn't even make a noise; a scream. Nothing.

Which was odd, because he always thought that he would scream if he would be forced to freefall?

"Dean!!!"

He could hear Sam's voice echo through the house, but when his body was free falling, everything got lost in the air…his mind was swimming in the air, his body too, and a _swoosh_ and a _crack_ were the only noises that he could hear clearly.

He was still holding onto the flashlight for dear life, but a hit to his arm made him let go of it. There was darkness. And wood. And slim rays of light and chips of rotten wood flying all over him.

"Dean!!!"

He reached his hands towards Sam's voice calling out for him, but when his back connected with wood in another room, everything went black for a second. But he didn't pass out; he just closed his eyes, not wanting to see when the next hit will come. Maybe not knowing is better.

"Dean!!!"

He wanted to grab purchase, but the only thing he got was splinters of wood on his back, legs, arms…the back of his head.

"Dean!!!"

He wanted to grab hold of his brother's voice calling out for him, grab hold of it to stop himself from falling deeper into the guts of the house. But his body was free falling and the only thing he could grab hold of was thin, cold air.

Gravity is a bitch.

"Dean!!!"

The funny thing was that he really thought that he could grab hold of Sam's voice, to reach out and be saved. But when his back hit another floor or a ceiling, depends on your point of view, he realized that Sam's screams, aren't gonna solve anything.

Seeing a fireplace go by him in a blur of speed and a horse sticking his tongue out to him, mocking him, he knew exactly where he was. And he couldn't stop his body from connecting with yet another wooden floor.

His arms were scratched raw, his back will be one big bruise, he knew that, his legs were gonna be sore for days on end, and his head will split open any second now.

"Dean!!!"

When he hit wood yet again, he wanted to reach out his hands and grab hold of the edge, but all that did was skin his fingertips raw.

When his back collided with something more solid then wood and the floor didn't give in he thought that he'd been saved. But a second later the pain came to him; he thought that his spine snapped in two and all of his limbs broke into tiny little pieces.

He slowly rolled to his side, ignoring with a clenched jaw all the pain in his body, reached his right hand over his ribs, bent his knees up and tried to get up. And that…that awoke every bruise in the making, every splinter embedded itself deeper into his skin, made his back ache like he'd been whipped, made his arms hurt like they were broken. His mouth formed a silent scream that got lost in Sam's: "Dean!!!"

He could hear Sam call out his name from somewhere close, somewhere above his splitting headache, but he couldn't do anything about it.

He lay there, winded and stunned. He could feel warm, sticky blood running down his face to seep into the cold, damp ground and with a sigh he gave up consciousness and let the dark wave take him away.

_Sam…_

**---**

**TBC…**


	9. Chapter 9

**I live in the countryside and those of you who live there too, well**** then you know what I was doing… the grass ain't gonna cut itself, right!? LOL But I'm back now and this chapter sucks but it had to be written. ****It's short, but that means that I have the next chapter all written down but something is just not right about it, so… I'll try to update soon. I'm sorry for all the grammar and spelling mistakes you're gonna find here, but I really wanted to post this today, because I was gone for so long. Thank you for reading! **

**Enjoy…**

**---**

"Dean!"

Sam yelled into the black hole, illuminating Dean's body with his flashlight, seeing Dean lying on the floor. There was blood running down the side of Dean's head as much as Sam could see in the shaky beam of the light. There was wood all over his brother; wood on wood on Dean.

"Dean, can you hear me?"

Sam thought 'probably not', but there's nothing wrong with a little bit of hope.

"Dean?!"

He called again, wanting Dean to wake up and say ''m fine, come down here' or something like that, but… Dean didn't make a sound.

"Damnit…" Sam swore under his breath and raised his eyes up from the hole into the room that was slowly becoming alive with sunlight. The day was in full swing now; it was seven 'o clock on a sweet April morning and the woods outside were becoming alive. Birds, other animals, wind, a distant sound of an airplane… but Sam never felt more alone. Dean was down in the hole, lying with injured God knows what and Sam was standing like a statue in the middle of a dust covered room, with a horses tongue licking his back.

"Dean!!!"

One more try, that got him no response. Not even a groan.

Taking one more look at the hole, he saw that there was no way that he would be able to get into the basement the same way Dean did. There was just no way, that he would be able to climb through the hole and get down there. He had no idea how far it was to the floor and he had nothing that he could use as rope. He needed to find another way down. Another _safe_ way down.

He needed to get to his brother, because this house felt all kinds of wrong and the thought of leaving Dean out of his sight for just one second… hurt and made all kind of alarms go off in his head. Sam thought for a brief second that this is how Dean must feel all the time; alarm bells going off in his head… all the time.

But leaving Dean down there, alone… was worse. He needed to get to him, he needed to take him out, out of this house, out of this constant feeling of loneliness.

"There has to be a door somewhere, right?" He said to Dean and got nothing in response. But it felt natural to tell Dean his plans. It felt… he felt… not so alone.

_This house…_

He walked around the hole, carefully, not wanting to go down himself too. That would be awkward, to say the least. He had a strange feeling that the house would have a field day if he would go down like his brother did.

He listened to every sound, every little noise that would tell him he was in trouble; the weeping of the wood, any groans from his brother, any noise that would tell him that something was about to happen.

Stepping around the hole, he walked into the hallway. He needed to find a way to the basement. Somewhere. Somehow. He just did.

Every room he checked had nothing even close to a door that would even make him think that it might lead to the basement. There was nothing, nowhere. Just nothing. Just spider webs and creaking floorboards and dust and sun and the smell of rotting wood.

But no door, not even a hidden door behind book shelves. Oh, he checked, he ripped the shelves off the walls, but all that got him was a ripped Shakespeare, a moldy Frost, and a dust of Poe. He checked every closet he could find, every crack, got a nice little heart attack when a rat almost jumped into his face…but there was no door…anywhere.

And after running through every room on the floor, after chasing dust and hope, after hitting his toes on broken wood and furniture, after watching how seven o' clock became seven thirty, after stumbling from room to room, throwing old books off the shelves, after checking every mouse hole and crack… he got nothing. There was nothing… no doors… nothing. Nothing, but dust and sunrays bleeding into the house.

He stopped in the middle of the hallway, his eyes on the line of smeared blood that ran along the wall… Peter's blood.

_Peter…_

The image of the boy, lying bleeding to death in his arms… chocked him. He needs to find out what happened, he needs to put Peter to rest. Somehow.

He breathed deeply and slowly, getting some dust in his throat. His heart was pounding in his chest, his eyes stinging and there was this odd feeling of failure rising up his throat. Maybe he should've just jumped into the hole and pray to God that the floor isn't as far down as it seems.

He felt so alone, standing in the middle of the dusty hallway, with Peter's blood and crooked pictures all over the walls… even with the sun shining at his right side, even if he felt how warm the sunrays were… he felt alone.

_This house…_

He slowly turned around and looked into the room Dean made a hole in and coughed. He made one step closer to the hole in the middle of the room and stopped when his eyes landed on something. He coughed again and the cough turned into an uncontrollable laughter.

Sam laughed, a deep, genuine laughter, a laughter of a mad man, who just realized that he was caught by the police.

He stood in the middle of the hallway, in the middle of a dust storm, that came from the last room he raided, laughing his heart out. The laughter travelled around the house, making a spider retreat to his hiding place, a mouse run a little faster over the cracked floorboards, a big, black fly flew into the basement through the hole and Sam's eyes were becoming watery. He couldn't tell if it was from the dust in his eyes, the laughter or the sheer stupidity that ruled in his head.

He wiped away the tears with the back of his hand and stepped into the room. He sidestepped the hole carefully and came face to tongue with the horse on the fireplace. He laughed at his own stupidity. All those mystery books he's read, all those stupid movies Dean made him watch, all the years of hunting evil things, taught him nothing.

He smiled when he reached his hand towards the horse's tongue: "Don't drool on me," and touched the cold silver tongue.

The horse's eyes were bulged out, his tongue had all these dents and cracks in it and to Sam it felt like he was touching the real thing minus the drool and warmth. He was touching cold silver… death.

He tried pulling the tongue down, but it didn't move. He tried shifting it left then right and when that did nothing he pulled the tongue up, up towards the horses teeth… and that made a groan escape the back of the horse's mouth.

Sam let go of the horse's tongue so fast, he didn't even acknowledge the moving of his hand. It was as if the thing burned him. He glanced behind himself to see how far away he can step back without falling into the hole. Not very far, but he made a step back anyway when the back of the fireplace, a huge, thick block of stone started to shift forward right in front of his eyes.

It didn't make a sound. Not even a squeal, nothing. It was as silent as a mouse creeping to take the cheese. But it was a slow process, stone turning and moaning and chiseling its way into the open. But in silence. No noise. Nothing. It seemed odd to Sam, an old house, a big fireplace, years of no one to use it, but still… the back of the fireplace opened as silently as if it was well taken care off and oiled regularly.

And when it was done, when the back stony door opened, a cloud of dust and stone covered Sam from head to toe making him turn around and spit pebbly dust out of his mouth.

**---**

**TBC… **


	10. Chapter 10

'**m here, 'm here! And I'm sorry for all the grammar mistakes, I had to write this while doing other stuff, so there are loads of mistakes here, but you would have to wait like days for me to update again, so... it's better to read with some mistakes then wait for days for me to update! Right!? **_bites lip_**  
**

**Enjoy…**

**---**

There was a cold breeze that came from the pitch black hole in the back of the fireplace. It was darker then dark and it made Sam wanna turn around and run away. And that was the plan… find Dean, carry him out if necessary and run out of this house as fast as humanly possible and only come back when you'll have all the facts about this house.

That's the plan. Yes it is.

He was going through the plan in his head, keeping himself busy, so that he didn't have to think about the darkness that was enveloping him with each step. While stepping down a slippery, moss covered steps… deeper into the darkness, with only a narrow beam of light to illuminate his path, the plan was becoming more and more his thread of sanity, he had to hold onto if he didn't want to fall into fear.

The walls were near him, surrounding him… it was a corridor he was walking in, the walls watery and covered with moss... his shoulders kept bumping them and chipping away the green moss that fell lightly on the stony steps.

The top of his head kept bumping the ceiling, so he hunched low and hoped that the corridor will widen soon, because this was doing nothing good for his back.

His hair was brushing the spider webs and he reached up with his free hand and tried to untangle himself from the webs that were getting lost in his hair. They were sticky; just like they should be to catch a fly.

"Dean…" he whispered into the, what seemed like a never ending, corridor.

"Dean…"

His voice got lost in the breeze that was constantly blowing from somewhere up front, a breeze that smelled of decay and more mold.

He could feel how slippery and slimy the stairs were through his sneakers… each step that he made was made careful. Every move was made deliberate and every breath was breathed in slow and easy.

_No need to be afraid. Dean is down there and he's gonna be okay and this house is in no way being a bitch and I am not scared and it doesn't stink like someone died in here__ more then just once and it's just a basement and that thing didn't just move and…_

Something made a noise behind his back… in the darkness. He turned around, almost hitting his flashlight into the wall, chirping away some of the plastic off the flashlight and saw the fireplace closing. The door was closing shut… all by itself. For a nanosecond he thought that maybe that's what they do… close all by themselves, or maybe he just triggered some sort of a mechanism or something, but he knew… he knew that wasn't it. He swallowed down a big ball of saliva mixed with fear and turned around again.

"Shit."

He was left alone, in the corridor, with the walls coming closer and closer to him, or so it seemed in the darkness that was darker then black. He gripped the flashlight tighter, praying that this was the flashlight with the new batteries… because if not... he's gonna be so screwed.

The stairs were constantly descending a little; it was so subtle that only a trained foot would've picked up on it.

But the slight turns here and there weren't so subtle, especially if you're afraid what can be waiting for you when you look behind the wall. He wished he had a gun more then anything right now, because there were things moving in the corner of his eyes that just shouldn't be moving.

A drop of sweat fell in his eye and he wiped it away with his sleeve. He was sweating buckets, and he couldn't tell whether it was from fear or the heat that ruled the corridor.

He decided it was from the heat and wiped his whole face with his sleeve.

"Dean…"

It was the name more then anything that kept him going… he didn't think that Dean came to yet.

A gasp for air made him stop in his tracks. He would recognize that sound anywhere, anytime.

It was Dean.

"Dean!"

He yelled a little louder and smiled when Dean groaned a few feet away and one more turn to the left.

He almost slipped on one stair when he tried to run towards the sound of his brother waking up: "Damnit."

"Dean!"

He rounded the corner and what he saw almost took his breath away.

Dean was lying on the floor, surrounded by wood and concrete and odd shaped things that Sam had no clue what they were, his hands were clutching a piece of wood like his life depended on it and his eyes were tiny little slits, because the early morning sun was shining right into his eyes from a small window high up on the wall.

"Dean?"

Sam stepped into the room. It was a typical basement as much as he could see…shelves with stuff on them, spied webs, cold, humid, shovels… just a typical basement light up with the easy morning sun. It was beautiful in a way... how the sunrays hit every object in the small room and how everything was so different from the pitch blackness of the corridor he just walked out from. His eyes needed some time to adjust to the light and when they did…

"S'm?" Dean's cracked voice never sounded so sweet to Sam.

Dean's lost voice pulled Sam's attention back to his brother and he made those three steps to where Dean was lying on the floor covered with wood.

"Dean, hey, you okay?"

Sam crouched down, getting himself face to face with Dean, seeing a little blood run from the corner of his brother's mouth. He started to remove the wooden planks that Dean was covered with, started throwing them all over the place, trying so hard to liberate his brother of all that was laying on top of him.

"Dunno." It was said with a groan and a breath.

"Does anything hurt?"

Dean's eyes were wide now, when Sam covered the sun with his body and he could see the way Dean struggled with keeping them opened.

Sam was throwing all the wood off of his brother and when he was sure that there was nothing even remotely close to Dean, he breathed a breath of relief.

Dean was alive and breathing and all that feeling of loneliness was forgotten; the house didn't win this one.

Dean's neck was warm to the touch when Sam checked for a pulse, the skin clammy.

"Yeah, my back."

Dean grunted and tried to get up, but Sam's strong push on his chest stopped his movements.

"Hurts?"

Sam's eyes were wide when he waited for Dean to answer.

"Yeah…"

Dean breathed in when Sam started patting his legs lightly, not wanting to cause damage to maybe already damaged areas.

"Legs?"

"I can feel you groping me, dude, so… I think they're just fine."

That didn't stop Sam: "Stomach, ribs, head, arms?"

Sam ran his hands over every inch of his brother, but Dean pushed them away when Sam wanted to check his pupils.

"'m fine man, get off of me."

"Your back, man."

"It's just sore… I think."

"Ya think?"

"Yeah, I don't think anything's broken."

"You sure? Man you feel like three floors down and…"

"Yeah, 'm sure." Dean lowered his voice when he saw his brother's eyes and the effect all of this had on Sam. He could tell… the fear, the panic… he knows those feelings. He knows them all too well.

"'m fine Sammy."

"Okay, come on, let's get you standing."

Sam reached his hand to grab Dean's outstretched one, but Dean's eyes grew wider then the moon and wilder then a lion's and Sam could barely hear Dean yell: "Sam!" before the world turned pitch black.

"Who are you?"

The smirk on the man's lips was all Dean saw before his head connected with a wooden plank.

**---**

**TBC… **


	11. Chapter 11

**I still don't own anything. **

**Enjoy…**

* * *

There was a sharp noise that came into his head, that entered his mind and got stuck there… a noise that made him see a hawk with wings spread out wide being carried away by wind on a clear blue sky. That was the image that the noise produced on the dark surface behind his eyes. A hawk on the bluest of skies, gliding on the wind. He wanted to reach out his hand and touch it, he was so close and then another noise entered his mind and got stuck in there, wiping the image of the hawk away, leaving him in darkness.

It was a voice, a gruff, hoarse voice that chased the hawk away. He somehow knew that voice, but couldn't quite figure out where he knew it from.

"Hey, you're okay…"

_I'm okay? You sure? My head hurts…_

The voice turned into a soft and gentle melody and it was coming from somewhere on his right.

"Don't cry, don't… hey, 's okay."

_Ummm, cry? 'm pretty sure 'm not crying… could be wrong though. _

He wanted to reach up and touch his cheeks to feel if he was crying, but he couldn't quite indentify which part of his body were hands. Everything felt the same… heavy and wrong and distant and painful.

"What's your name? Hey, hey, look at me… what's your name?"

The voice was persistent he had to give it that. And it was so familiar, God if he could just remember from where he knew it. His head hurt… or at least he thought that was his head. He wanted the hawk back ASAP. The hawk was comforting, the voice was just confusing. The voice made him think and thinking hurt.

"What's your name, kid? Hey, don't look there, look at me. What's your name?"

He couldn't leave the voice alone; it was asking for his name, he has to answer. It's only polite or so he was told.

"S' 'm."

He groaned out, smacking his lips together, unstucking his tongue from the sky of his mouth, licking his teeth and dry lips. He didn't dare to open his eyes, not yet, because the pressure in his temples was overwhelming and he knew that light would just make it worse.

"Sam?"

"'m nm' 's S'm."

That came out all kinds of wrong. Words with meaning do not sound like that…

He smacked his dry lips together again and licked them, groaning out: "'m name 's Sam."

Dean huffed.

"I know your name, dude. I was asking the kid what his name was."

His head was heavy, his legs were heavy, his arms were heavy, his eyes were heavy, his chest was heavy… everything was just so heavy. Even his thoughts were heavy… too heavy to carry around in his head.

_Kid? What kid? What…? Huh? God…_

"What kid?"

He smacked his lips together again, hoping to moisten them a little. He was thirsty and hungry, but… he sincerely doubted that breakfast in bed was served wherever he was.

"Open your eyes, man."

"Wha…?"

He opened his eyes and blinked a few times, to get adjusted to the soft strings of light that danced in the room. The first thing he saw was a ceiling covered with spider webs and cracks. There was yellow light that danced over the thick webs, and it looked almost peaceful. It was a feeling of an easy Saturday afternoon that washed over him, but then his mind caught up with his body and he groaned when Dean's voice came into his aching head: "The kid next to you."

He slowly rotated his head, got it to actually move against a hard, warm surface and saw a table, a normal kitchen table, brown, wooden and on it, was a boy, a child lying on his back, his legs stretched out, his hands tied down, palms lying flat on the surface, his knuckles white, where he was gripping the edge of the table. His cheeks were teary, eyes almost dead… there was no spark in them, there was nothing in them… just calm deadness and sparkling tears.

His chest was moving up and down so fast, Sam thought that the kid will pass out any second now.

And on his forearms… patches of skin were missing, but there was no blood anywhere.

There was a strip of skin missing from the kid's wrist all the way up to the middle of his forearm. The wound was red and leaking some transparent liquid that ran all the way down to the flood. But there was no blood… anywhere.

"Is he...?" _dead? Alive? What?_

"No, he's just…"

Dean didn't know what to say. The kid looked at him when he was spoken to, he clearly heard him, understood him, he was just… not talking or reacting to anything that was said to him. It didn't sit well with Dean.

Sam raised his head a little to see over the kid's body and looked at his brother… the voice that chased away the hawk.

Dean was in the same position they all were… lying on his back, on a wooden table with only his T-shirt preventing him from freezing to death.

The room was cold, really cold. When Sam breathed out, he could see his breath linger in the air… white cloud of hot breath.

"'s freezing in here."

"Yup…"

Sam sighed and blinked, getting his eyes back on the kid; but seeing the boy lay motionless on the table made him look back at his brother. He saw Dean trying to move his hands and failing miserably. There was a window there, high up on the wall. It was a small window, covered with mud and tree leaves. Late morning sun was peeking in through the mud stains and the room glowed with the yellow light.

"Where are we?"

"Hell if I know… I just woke up like five minutes before you and the first thing I saw," he stretched his neck as far as he could and nodded towards his feet," was him."

Sam stretched his neck too, raised his head up as far as it would go and looked at the direction Dean was looking at.

There was a man lying on a table there… a dead man, that was for sure.

His arms were lacking skin all over, his chest was bloody… the blood penetrated his shirts, his jeans were dark and red, and Sam knew that it was probably because his skin was missing there too. His eyes were closed, thank God, but his head was turned into their direction… it looked as if the man was just sleeping, but... you don't have to be a doctor to see when someone is dead or just sleeping.

Sam couldn't look at the man anymore… he's seen his share of dead bodies but right now… he wanted to bang his head onto the table until he lost consciousness again. But that would be pointless. You can't defend yourself if you're not in the real world.

Sam sighed and looked up at the ceiling: "I know who the boy is."

"Enlighten me."

"'s Gab." Sam whispered more to himself then to Dean, because he didn't want to believe that that was Gab's Dad lying dead there by their feet.

The boy made a sobbing sound when his name was mentioned and Sam rotated his head in the kid's direction.

"Gab?"

The boy closed his eyes for a blink of an eye before he nodded, scarping his black hair on the table.

"Gab? As in," Dean hushed his voice, trying for it not to reach Gab, "Peter's brother?"

"Yeah."

"So that's his…"

"Yeah…"

Sam looked at his feet, the man still lying there… dead. Gab just lost his Dad and brother and Sam had an odd feeling that the boy didn't even realize that.

Sam really wanted to bang his head onto the table.

"Sam?"

Well there goes that plan.

"Yeah…"

"Can you untie the ropes?"

_What ropes?_

Sam raised his head up again and saw that thick, brown ropes were running over his chest strapping him to the table. There was some dried blood soaked into the ropes and Sam had the strange feeling that he's gonna throw up soon.

He grit his teeth and tried to move his hands, arms, head, torso… but that just gave him a headache and stole his breath away when the ropes tightened themselves even more around him.

"No," a pant, "I can't… do nothin'."

He lowered down his head and restrained himself from banging it on the table.

"Me neither. Whoever did this, knows his way around ropes. And man, I don't think it's only ropes that are keeping us tied here."

"Who did do this?"

"Dunno. I didn't see anything."

"What do you mean not only ropes?"

"Dontcha feel it?"

"What?"

"Your hands aren't tied down, but you can barely move them, if you can move them at all."

Sam tried to move his hands just a little bit, but he couldn't even lift a finger.

"Some sort of magic. Maybe?"

"Yeah, maybe… I don't know. But whatever it is, it's like super glue… I can't move anything besides my head."

"You can move your mouth pretty well too."

Dean rotated his head – eyes moving past Gab - and looked at Sam smiling, freaking smiling at him.

"Shut up. It's my only source of defense right now, unless you have some secret mojo…"

"Okay, okay." he tried to shift a little, but whatever it was that was keeping him on the table, was strong. Really strong.

"You think we're dealing with a witch?"

"Oh God, please no."

Sam had to smile at that. Dean and his hate for witches.

"So… ummm, do we have a plan?"

Sam closed his eyes so that he didn't have to look at the ceiling anymore.

"'m working on it."

The squealing of a door being opened was a sound Sam really didn't want to hear.

"Work faster, Dean." Sam whispered to his brother over the noise of heavy booths walking on the concrete… the noise coming closer and closer.

* * *

**TBC… **


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Wow, this took awhile... so sorry. I'm not even sure anyone is still reading this, but I like to finish what I start so... enjoy. And this chapter might be a bit ... gross.**

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The morning was slowly turning into midday; the sunlight changed into bright yellow, little strips of light in the room travelled to the left, illuminating new parts of the room, and covering other parts in complete darkness. Dust was gliding on the sun beams, looking so at peace in the basement of hell.

The footsteps kept coming closer and closer, echoing in the space made of concrete and wood.

"Can you see who it is?"

Dean whispered to his brother, which wasn't really necessary, because sound traveled around if one whispered or not. But they had been trained to be subtle, to be just them while in danger, rely on themselves and say _screw you_ to anyone else.

Sam tried to rotate his neck, push his head up as far as it would go, to look at what the dark corners of the room were hiding…

"Can't…"

… but he couldn't see anything.

There was only darkness with the sound of heavy boots making noise… coming closer with each fast heartbeat in his chest… until a man came out of the shadows.

He was… old. Slim, tall. Black short hair on top of his head, gray short beard, wrinkly face, eyes blue as the deep blue sea. Dressed in jeans and a red flannel shirt.

He looked like your normal grandfather… there was nothing on him that would scream killer or monster… everything on him was screaming: grandpa. Kids on the street would probably take candy off of this guy, he looked that … nice.

He stepped closer to Sam, around the table, brushing his fingers through Sam's sweaty hair, but not stopping on his way.

Sam shivered at the touch; it was light, just a brush of fingers but it felt as if flames were licking his scalp.

"Who are you?"  
Sam asked, his voice strained, his neck stretched to its limits.

There was no answer, just noise of boots hitting the floor and fabric rustling. He had to rotate his head to his right, to follow the man around the room; almost stopping to breathe when the man walked closer to his brother, _nononono_, and then he left out a breath of relief when the man approached Gab instead of Dean.

But that… that was worse, because he knew that whatever the man had planned, Dean would be able handle it, but Gab? He was just a kid.

"You son of a bitch, get away from him." Sam yelled, but the man ignored him and leaned down over the boy's small, shaking body.

"Hey Gab, how are you doing?"

The man asked; his voice deep, soft, unthreatening, soothing.

It made Dean's skin crawl.

It made Sam close his eyes and think: crap.

-:-

The man leaned over the boy, his right hand stretching over Gab's heaving chest to grip the edge of the table to support himself, while his other hand started to stroke Gab's sweaty, dirty, bloody hair.

"You scared, boy?"

The man asked looking straight into Gab's wide open eyes. The fear swimming in them made the man take a deep breath and suck in the delicious smell of horror.

Gab whimpered and jerked his head towards Sam in a feeble attempt to get away, but the man followed the move of the kid's head with his eyes, tilting his head to the right and finding Gab's eyes again.

In that split second when their eyes met, Sam could see raw terror in Gab's eyes, terror so pure he choked on his own spit. He couldn't say anything, didn't even have the time to make his own eyes soothing.

The man took away Gab's sight too soon.

-:-

"You afraid, son?"

Gab sobbed.

"You terrified?"

Gab started to cry in earnest; sobbing so hard his face got red and wet from tears and snot so fast it was like someone poured a bucket of water all over him.

"You taste so good, boy… you have no idea."

"Hey… leave him alone, you son of a bitch."

Dean's voice made Sam jump.

Made Gab sniffle.

Made the man smirk.

"You wait your turn, Dean."

Oh shit. He knew their names. Knew them.

"How do you know my name?"

"I might live in the middle of nowhere, but news come to me anyway, boy."

"Well… awesome. Then ya know how good at killing your kind we are too."

The man's mouth curved up into a smile, his teeth yellow and long: "Everyone has a weak spot, Dean."

"Haven't found one yet."

"All in good time, all in good time, my boy."

"'m not your boy."

The man laughed, baring his sharp teeth, while never looking away from Gab's face.

"You're your father's son."

"What the…"

"All these questions… all these words… and 'm hungry. After dinner, we'll talk."

The man leaned closer over Gab, stroking his wet cheeks.

"No, we talk now."

"Patience is a virtue, Dean."

"Patience, my ass. You talk to us now!"

Sam tried to look at Dean, for just a brief moment, just to see him and make sure they were okay, but the man was in the way. It was frustrating; he wanted to see his brother, see what Dean thought of all of this and see if Dean had a plan.

"Talk to us!"

There, the man shifted to look at Dean and Sam could finally get a look at his brother, whose eyes were wide, saying: "we are so screwed", his breathing fast and his fingers working to try and touch the rope. With no success.

"Patience, patience… after dinner we'll talk."

-:-

Dean watched as the man leaned over Gab again, saw the tremors running through the boy's small body.

"Hey!"

He yelled to the man again, for the tenth time, but the man ignored him. His attention was on the kid now. Fully on the kid. And that was bad.

"'s okay, 'm just gonna take a little…"

He let go of the side of the table and started to lift up the boys T-shirt all the while still stroking the boy's hair.

"Hey, hey, hey, what're you doin'?!"

The man ignored Dean's question and kept pulling Gab's thin shirt up and up until it was resting all bunched up a little below the kid's neck.

Dust particles landed on the boy's sweaty, heaving chest, making their home there as if there was nothing wrong at all. As if the surface wasn't shaking and trembling. As if the surface wasn't wet and slick.

"'m gonna take a little here," the man ran his index finger almost soothingly from Gab's bellybutton, to the center of his chest and Gab's breathing sped up even more as if he had been running for ages.

"Stop… you son of a bitch..."

The man raised his head and looked right into Dean's angry eyes, smirked and said: "But why would I do that? The kid's skin," he slid his sharp, sickly yellow fingernail into Gab's stomach, just a little above the kid's bellybutton and pushed it up and up until Gab's screams subdued the sick squelching noise of the man's finger moving underneath Gab's skin.

Sam was shouting to Gab, while Dean was shouting to the man and both of them almost threw up at the sight of the man raising the bloody, floppy patch of skin to his mouth, popping it in and chewing it slowly, the look of utter delight in his eyes.

"Mmmm… just like the finest stake dipped into the finest sauce."

To Dean it looked more like beef jerky, but who's he to know. And he's never eating beef jerky again.

* * *

**TBC…**


End file.
